


Another Me, Another You

by Kazama



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 14:50:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17920907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kazama/pseuds/Kazama
Summary: Feliciano tells Ludwig a story of a girl, whose love left her to go to war.





	Another Me, Another You

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in April of 2017, and never finished it. But I hope you enjoy what little I have.

He should be used to it by now, really. With Feliciano’s occasional whim to partake in womanly wiles and ensnare him with desire. It wasn’t uncommon, after all– he was fine-tuned to what drove Ludwig crazy. More often than not, a simple expanse of silk and lace showing from under pair of dark pleated dress-pants was enough to have him giving Feliciano anything he wanted, and the other would just bear an impish grin.

 

So really, it should have been no surprise for him to return home and fine Feliciano like this, laid out on the couch and dolled up, excited, and in a soft tenor that sang the words, welcomed him back. Arms looped around his neck and his own found their way to the familiarity of Feliciano’s hips, but it wasn’t until the other man pulled away that he truly got to look at his ensemble.

 

The dress was what caught his eyes first, licking the skin just under his knees in a dark olive color. The skirt was layered, bunched out at the waist with flower-patterned lace peeking out underneath. The top of it was fitted, pressing to his slim figure and adorning a large white bow against the bateau of the neckline and laced with white at the hems. It was simple, but it suited him. Ludwig’s gaze continue to travel down the other’s body. His legs were white with stockings, presumably up to his thigh, and his feet bare of any shoes. It wasn’t until Feliciano bounded at him once again in an exuberant way that he really got to look at the man’s face.

 

“Hug me! Kiss me!”

 

He was wearing makeup, a browned-red color stained his lips and stained _Ludwig’s_ when an enthusiastic kiss was pressed to them. With Feliciano throwing himself at him, he stumped back a few steps until his back was pressed vertical to the door behind him, the vice-grip around his neck doing nothing to pillow the back of his head from hitting the wood of it. He groaned and Feliciano pulled back, mouthing an apology. There were darker brown shades on his eyelids, lined with white, and a healthy flush on his sun-kissed skin. Feliciano reached a hand up to cradle the back of Ludwig’s head, and Ludwig saw his nails painted in a smooth white as well. He wondered just how far the other had gone for this display.

 

Feliciano’s face contorted into one of pure glee as breaths of dry laughter escaped him, and tried to muffle himself by hiding and pressing into Ludwig’s neck, “You look like you’re wearing lipstick,” he mumbled, his voice an airy warble and barely a whisper as he tried to calm his shaking shoulders.

 

“I wonder whose fault that is.”

 

He let Feliciano stand on his tiptoes and rest his face against the crook of his neck for moments longer, growing at ease with the palms of his hands mapping out Feliciano’s lower back, feeling the cotton of the dress and the occasional nuzzle the other would rub against his cheek, until the silence became deafening.

 

“Have you eaten yet?” He asked, and Feliciano hummed, detaching himself from Ludwig to give a small twirl out amidst the middle of the entryway, which Ludwig reasoned the sole purpose of such was to make the skirt flare out around him. Which it did, _beautifully_ he might add.

 

“I had dinner at seven, there’s leftover lasagna in the fridge. It’s in the tupperware container with the blue lid.”

 

“They’re all blue.”

 

“I _know_ , but it’s the one with the _bluest_ lid!” He said, and he stuck his tongue out at Ludwig when he gave him a skeptical look on his way to the kitchen. He wondered how Feliciano could see such minuscule details like that, how something just a shade or two darker could be a completely different color, with so many different names. Ludwig didn’t have the time to ponder how lavender and periwinkle differed. He wiped his mouth against his arm and left a waxy-cedar smear in its wake.

 

_It’s ok Ludwig, a lot of people confuse colors_ , his brain told him in a voice that sounded _much_ like his fiancé as he recalled the conversation, but with more of a nasal whine. _Even I confuse maroon and burgundy sometimes!_

 

The fridge when he opened it was full of leftover tupperware containers, all with blue lids that looked identical, and briefly wondered how many of them had gone bad. He decided he would clean the fridge on his next day off, because this was ridiculous. His eyes scanned the shelves and grabbed the first container of lasagna he came across, dumped it onto a plate, discarded the container into the sink, and put it into the microwave for four minutes.

 

When he entered the dining room holding the steaming plate, it was dim, and lit by the few scented candles in the middle of the table. They were subtle scents, things like vanilla and cinnamon, because Ludwig’s nose couldn’t handle the fruity and flowery smells that Feliciano adored.

 

He eyed the display, with Feliciano sitting next to Ludwig’s usual seat and his chin rested comfortably on a hand. He swallowed the urge to tell him no elbows on the table, distracted instead by just how copper his hair looked when it was illuminated by a burning flame.

 

Should he have brought flowers home? Their anniversary wasn’t until midsummer, and Valentine's Day was awhile ago. Feliciano was dressed up beautifully, in a way normally reserved for special occasions, or just when he wanted Ludwig wrapped around his finger, but usually he didn’t accompany it with romantic gestures when the date didn’t call for it.

 

So what was he playing at?

 

Feliciano batted his eyelashes as Ludwig sat down, scooted his chair closer, and asked about work. They talked as he ate, and went on about how doing paperwork for handling the K9 units at the police-station was what kept him late, one of the dogs was unfit to be trained and would have to be returned to the pound. He quickly backpedaled when he saw the crestfallen look on Feliciano’s face, and assured him that the pooch had learned a lot of commands already and would be quickly adopted. Feliciano mentioned the preschool, how one of the kids was already an art prodigy, and then he gave a small sigh with that dreamy look on his face and Ludwig quickly deflected the conversation before he could talk about wanting a baby. He asked the question that’s been eating at his mind since he came home.

 

“What’s the occasion?”

 

Feliciano’s smile turned sly and mischievous, gold shining behind his teeth and beneath his fingertips as he ghosted them down Ludwig’s arm. He got up and draped himself against the back of Ludwig’s chair. He repeated his question.

 

“I have a story,” He said, the pads of his fingers deftly popping the first button of Ludwig’s beige polo, “Are you finished eating?” _Yes_.

 

“This dress almost came with boots. Those knee-high ones that lace up.”

 

He paused for a second, trying to imagine how they’d look with Feliciano’s outfit, “With a heel?”

 

“Mm,” He hummed, “Stiletto.” Ludwig shivered.

 

He got up to take his plate to the sink, an afterthought about how he’d wash it tomorrow, while Feliciano scurried to put out the candles and took his hand to lead the way to their shared bedroom.

 

“What’s the story?” He asked, and Feliciano turned around and faced him, grabbing Ludwig’s other hand and gently swinging their arms as they stood in the hallway just outside the door.

 

With their fingers still linked, Feliciano took a step back, then danced forward, letting go of one of Ludwig’s hands in lieu of giving a small spin and tucking himself comfortable against his torso. “It’s about a girl, and how her love left her to go to war,” He said, and Ludwig raised a brow, his eyes darting down to the petals of the dress and how they swayed against Feliciano’s legs.

 

“Does he come back?” Ludwig asked, their eyes met and Feliciano gave him a wicked grin that showed all thirty-two of his teeth in a way that said, _you’ll have to find out_ , then pushed Ludwig into their room and onto the bed. There was a gleam in his eyes as he started the story.

 

“ _In 1792, the revolutionary France was at war with various parts of the Holy Roman Empire–_ ”

 

* * *

 

“–And this is your room, it is where you’ll be staying. You’ll find that it’s furnished, with a feather-stuffed mattress atop a cast-iron bed frame,” Mister Roderich said, ushering the awestruck servant into the small room. There were several cloth dresses in the closet, and while they were cheap to Roderich’s standards, they were extravagant to Feliciano. “You’re to cook, clean, and otherwise look after my wife, son, and I. Is that understood?” He nodded enthusiastically. “Good. I expect you to get a good night’s rest, then. You start tomorrow.” Another nod. Roderich left.

 

The room was small, much smaller than the others he was shown, but that came to no surprise. Roderich was a rich man, and Feliciano felt lucky he was getting a room at all, everything considered. He padded to the far side of the room where the closet was, and reached forward for one of the dressing gowns used for sleep. The fabric was soft, _silky_ even, much different than the rough texture of the patterned sack his mother had woven into a dress for him. He brought the gown to his face, gently rubbing his cheek against it. _Oh_ , how lucky he was. He changed out of his previous clothes and got ready for the night.

  
  


Dawn hadn’t yet broken when there was a light rapping on his door, and Feliciano burrowed further into the blankets. A woman let herself into the room, stout with ruddy cheeks and long oakey curls. She sat herself on the edge of the bed. She leaned forward and uncovered Feliciano.

 

He sat up and rubbed at his bleary eyes, able to get a better view of the woman’s face now. She had a gentle face, soft green eyes, and flowers pinned to the side of her fringe. He adjusted the gown he slept in, pulling it straight and taut against his frame.

 

“Good morning, Missus–” His chirp faded, he didn’t know her name. The tips of his ears burned brilliantly, he should have asked Roderich for everyone’s names.

 

“Miss Elizabeta is fine, dear.”  The woman said, reaching forward and gently patting Feliciano’s knee, quelling his shame. He nodded. She stood up and patted down her dress, “Get ready and come down to the kitchen, you’ll be working with me this morning.”

 

“Yes, Miss Elizabeta.” She left.

  
  


Feliciano donned himself in one of the dresses in the closet, a muted burnt orange color was lined with plain white lace at the bottom of the skirt, adorned with a white apron tied around it and a silken red bow at the folded collar. He hurried along the halls of the house and down the spiral wooden staircase, trying to remember the way to the kitchen.

 

He found her finally, a white cloth rag tied at the back of her head, and held a similar one out for Feliciano. “Come here dear, let me help you with this.” She cooed, and ran her fingers against his scalp, playing amongst the copper curls. He repressed the urge to purr and shiver, but couldn’t stop himself from going cross-eyed and giving a delirious smile. She tied the cloth the same as hers.

 

“I’ve always wanted a daughter,” She said softly, dreamily, sadly. She tightened the knot at the back, ensuring it wouldn’t slip off, tucked a lock of hair behind Feliciano’s ear, then sighed. “Roderich and Ludwig should be back soon,” So the son’s name was Ludwig, “I’ll show you how breakfast is prepared.”

  
  


Making cornbread was messy, Elizabeta observed, as Feliciano spilled flour across the surface of the tabletop. She hushed his attempts at frittered apologies, and managed to salvage much of what was spilled on the table by wiping it onto a bowl held at the edge. She showed him how to stir the mixture, and went to work starting on the sausage pieces and stew.

 

She shooed Feliciano outside after another mess involving him dropping the stew pot, and gave specific instructions to fetch both men, and he wandered across the expanse of tilled land and towards the shed where he heard a boisterous voice, then obnoxious laughter.

 

He saw two figures, one of which was a farmer, with silver-blond hair aged with grey hidden beneath a straw hat, and eyes such a concentrated shade of burnt umber that they looked red when the light hit them. The other man was taller, but shared the same strong nose and defined jaw. Feliciano lost his footing when he stepped closer to get a better look at the second man, but a hand grabbed his upper arms and hoisted him up before his face could meet the ground. Soil-stained fingers loosened their grip on the sleeve of his dress, and his eyes darted up towards the blond.

 

He was _tall_. Taller than expected, and Feliciano only went up to his shoulders, which were broad and only seemed to make him look larger. The man looked absolutely terrifying at first glance, but on the second he saw blue eyes on a concerned face with the sky behind them breaking open like eggshells.

 

“I’m Feliciano,” He said, standing up straight and dusting off the body of his dress, “ _Breakfast is ready_.”

 

* * *

 

“How many eggs did you carelessly break while making dinner?” Ludwig demanded, and Feliciano shifted nervously on the comfortable perch of his lap.

“Um, _a few_?” He said, full of guilt, and Ludwig sighed. He trailed a hand up under Feliciano’s dress and along his thigh, his index finger playing under the white strap of the garter belt, then snapped it against his skin, earning a yelp from the man in his lap.

 

“Stop breaking my eggs,” He scolded, but his expression softened. “It was still a beautiful metaphor.” He cleared his throat, “Is the farmer related to the boy? His uncle?”

 

Arms found their way looped back around his neck, and Feliciano shifted forward again, causing Ludwig to groan and rub at the skin he just snapped the strap against in apology, his hand going to wander behind Feliciano while the other stayed stationary on his upper thigh. He gave a content sigh, and peppered butterfly-kisses along the line of Ludwig’s jaw.

 

“Mm,” _Kiss_ , “No, ah–,” _Kiss_ , _kiss_ , “He’s not his uncle,” _Kiss_ , _kiss_ , _kiss_. Ludwig decided he had enough and flipped them over until they were lying horizontally on the bed, and mouthed at Feliciano’s exposed throat instead. He laughed and curled his toes in a mix of dizzying desire and bliss, and arched his neck in a show of submission. Ludwig nipped up it, leaving a trail of faint pink, fading marks, until he reached his lips and claimed them in a kiss.

 

One kiss became two, then four, until Feliciano licked his way into Ludwig’s mouth and made him go all melty. His hand rose up to cup his face and wrap around the back of Ludwig’s head, messed up the crunchy gelled strands, and sighed with contentment. Once he decided that Ludwid was distracted enough, Feliciano flipped them _again_ , retaining his original perch and straddling his fiancé. The second button on his polo was swiftly undone.

 

Feliciano was absolutely _breath-taking_ , and thoroughly enjoyed the view as said man straddled him. His eyes were were hot gold ore right out of the furnace, blazing and beautiful, glowing right through the fiery copper of his hair and bursting from his browned sun-kissed skin. Feliciano was the epitome of daylight and shone brilliantly in the dark night of their room.

 

He kissed him again, only to have his sun gleam and push him back down.

 

“I’m not finished with my story yet! It’s _rude_ to interrupt, _Lud_ ,” Feliciano taunted in his song-voice, his backside pressed firmly down against Ludwig’s hips and holding him there. “Where was I?” He mockingly mused, then swiftly sat up– which caused Ludwig to let out a lungful of breath, “Oh yeah!”

 

“ _The girl stayed with them for a really long time_ ,”

 

* * *

 

It’s been months since Feliciano’s arrival, weaving his way through corridors and rooms to do much needed business. And though he was still clumsy, with spilled mop buckets and dropped sacks of flour, he had become an integral part of the household, giving both Elizabeta and Roderich a much needed break.

“Have you got everything for the market?” Roder– _Mister_ Roderich asked, eyeing him from bottom to top. He smoothed over the pocket of his dress, and felt over the Krone banknotes with the tips of his fingers. Miss Elizabeta called them _Korona_ , in her sweet lilac voice. _Korona_. It brought a sense of comfort, akin to the Lira, his home currency, when she said it like that, but when Feliciano did– Roderich sent him a sharp look. So he called them Krone.

 

There were Lire banknotes tucked in his shoe at home, a sense of familiarity and underlying urgency that drove him to this place to begin with, to Austria-Hungary. His older brother had tucked a 50 Lire note under the buckle of his shoe, fresh and crisp with new crease folds, and handed him over to Roderich. _You know the language better than I_ , he had said. _Stay with them, I’ll find you again. I promise_.

 

He missed Italy. He missed his brother.

 

“Yes,” He croaked, blinking away any blurriness edging his vision, and Roderich quickly gave him another once-over, gaze hardened on his eyes.

 

“And do you know what you’ll be getting?” He asked, hand on his hip. There was a regal air about him, with cuffed sleeves dyed in a purple that could almost give any royal a sense of shame. He had tried to teach Feliciano how to play piano once, twice maybe, until his schedule no longer allotted time for it. He was beautiful, in a masculine sort of way. A grace he wish he could have, to contrast his own clumsy nature.

 

He briefly went over the list of foods in his head, Bread, no, _ingredients_ for bread, slabs of pork and beef, fresh produce– But not potatoes, Mister Gilbert always gave Ludwig a bag of potatoes, far more than they could actually use, so prepared foods typically had an excess of them. Feliciano was beginning to hold discontentment for the starchy vegetable. He nodded.

 

“Good. Ludwig,” He called, and Ludwig emerged from his seat at the table and settled by his father’s side. He stood a good head taller than Roderich, but didn’t hold the same features as the man. He barely looked a thing like Elizabeta, though a resemblance could still be made. It was mostly his hair that gave him away as her son, with how the strands curled at the ends when they got too long, or weren’t pushed back with gelled pig fat. Sometimes Feliciano thought he looked more like–

 

“You’re to accompany Feliciano,” Roderich’s voice broke his train of thought. “Help him find the right merchants, and keep him from losing my money, will you?” Ah, right, the market.

 

Ludwig nodded, and the shadows of his hair looked almost the same chestnut brown as Miss Elizabeta’s. It gave him a gentle look, not all a stark or silvered blond, and it made Feliciano smile. “Yes sir.”

 

His face softened, he reached forward to smooth back the sides of Ludwig’s hair and smiled at him. “That’s my boy,” He said, his voice barely above a whisper for that moment before going back to its normal stern and pronounced tone, “Don’t stop by that farmer on your way, the potatoes are nice but the man is an unnecessary hassle. Got it?” They both nodded, “Be on your way then.”

 

They were out the door, and once on the road they settled on a comfortable pace. Brisk, with Feliciano several strides behind, as he was custom to. He was to be lead, not stand on equal footing with, or to lead. Though sometimes he could get away with it. Only sometimes.

 

Plus, it gave him extra opportunity to observe Ludwig, how his walk almost seemed like a march, with determined steps and powerful strides. Feliciano scurried behind him, with quicker footing that tapped the palms of his feet through the leather shoes and clicked his heels. Oftentimes he’d exaggerate his step just to hear the _click-clack-clack_ his shoes would make, but Miss Elizabeta would hush him, soothe his hyper energy, and tell him it wore the leather down. He always felt bad when she had to mend his shoes because he couldn’t stop himself.

 

There was a fork in the path, and he followed him from up the cobbled roads to down the dirt path, paved with smooth limestone bricks dotted in the ground. He glanced back at Feliciano, to make sure he was keeping up, and looked forward again.

 

Ludwig, with how strong and strict he looked, wore his heart on his sleeve. Though at first the man was cold and reluctant to pay him any mind, he became more tentative in the coming months, shy even. When Roderich baked, he slid his slice of whatever baked to Feliciano (who gluttonously enjoyed his extra serving), and began to hold an almost predatory look over him. Feliciano wasn’t stupid, though he could be oblivious. The man was growing infatuated with him, and that could lead to trouble.

 

So he avoided any chase Ludwig gave, and didn’t play into whatever games of cat-and-mouse he evoked.

 

But, that didn’t mean he didn’t find him charming. He was handsome, tall, strong, and most of all– kind. Ludwig, under all his sharp looks and gruff actions, was a sweet and simple man who once presented Feliciano with a field full of dandelions in his arms, and watched him make a wish and blow on every white wisp he was given and weave the roots of the ones with yellow petaled florets. It was a thoughtful gift, even if they were technically the scraps of his yardwork.

 

...Well _maybe_ he humored Ludwig every now and then, but he couldn’t stop himself! It felt nice to be treated so kindly, so gently, as if he were made of glass.

 

Even Miss Elizabeta fussed and guffawed over the two of them, with soft cooes and playful gazes, going as far to even treat Feliciano as her own child at times, with dressing him up and styling his curls. But Roderich wasn’t to know, not under any circumstance.

He walked closer to Ludwig when the market came into view.

  
  


Ludwig carried the satchels full of grocery, slung over his shoulders while he made hefty strides, Feliciano tittered behind and marveled at his strength, he could probably lift him without issue. The thought made his heart race. Their shopping was done for the day, the remainder of the dollars tucked tightly in the pocket of his palm. On the path the walked on, Ludwig’s boots clunked across the scattered stones paved deep into the ground. He wasn’t as behind him while they walked, only half a step back, almost side-by-side.

 

A rustling came from the cornfield adjacent from where they strode, and Feliciano instinctively yipped and hid behind Ludwig who assessed the scene with his eyes. A man emerged, dressed in a straw hat and brown slacks braced with denim straps, he observed when he peeked his head over Ludwig’s shoulder. It was Gilbert.

 

“I knew I heard someone walking this way,” He said, batting off shelled husks from his shoulder and the front patch of his shirt, evidently eating his crop. He eyed the bags Ludwig was carrying, “I’m glad I caught you, you went to the marketplace right? Let me set you up with some potatoes, my treat.” Ludwig grunted in response while he cleared the last of the corn in his way and stepped onto the pathway, and immediately caught sight of Feliciano, who was no longer hidden behind the other man.

 

“Haven’t seen you in awhile,” Gilbert said, sidestepping Ludwig to get to him, grasping Feliciano’s hands in his. “They’re not keeping you from me, are they? Why, a pretty little thing like you would be welcome to be _my_ housekeeper any–”

 

“ _Gilbert_ ,” Ludwig sighed, the fingers of one hand pinched the bridge of his nose, while the other rested heavily on the farmer’s shoulder in warning, “We can’t stay, we were told to come straight home–”

 

“I don’t see why not,” Interrupted Feliciano, who rocked on the balls of his feet.

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I don't remember too much of the story, it's been two years since I've even thought of it!! (I actually haven't written anything since this! I'm a digital artist, not a writer. :P) But here's what I DO remember:
> 
> Gilbert (In Feliciano's story) was supposed to be story!Ludwig's actual father, meaning Elizabeta cheated on Roderich and bore Gilbert's son. Gilbert knows this, and that's why he's so doting on Ludwig.
> 
> ACTUAL Feliciano and Ludwig were supposed to fucckkkkkkkkkKKKK. So I kept the M rating. Ya'll can see it was going there, right?? RIGHT??? Good.
> 
> In Feliciano's story, I don't remember what I was going to do when Story!Ludwig went to war. Maybe I didn't plan that far ahead?? That sounds like me. I don't plan when I write, haha.
> 
> also i love crossdressing feli i'm a simple man i just love pretty dresses hhhHHHHH


End file.
